I am sitting in an office, looking out on a misty afternoon as my work day comes to an end. On Saturday morning I will meet up with a new friend and we will go to Chinatown to pick up some dim sum to take to Deana's ninety-two year old aunt. I'm doing this rather intimate activity with someone who I have never met and have only spoken to on the phone a few times. Why, I wonder, am I being given this gift of inclusion. It is certainly not my beauty, nor is it my intelligence. I think that what was recognized was a spirit of compassion.
Compassion is a foundation stone of transition for me. Until I could find the spark of a compassionate nature in who I am, I could not find the courage to risk an authentic life. Until I could find the beginnings of authenticity I could not celebrate the changes that were about to happen. Until I could accept whatever the universe tossed my way the beauty of change was something I could neither admit nor embrace.
That I am here, and whole, and lovable is beyond the scope of what is possible for me as an individual. But well withing the purview of what we can do as a community. What I will be participating in on Saturday is a stepping into a community where I will be the new and possibly odd participant. I welcome the opportunity to participate.
Compassion given, Compassion received. We are granted that which we seek but only when we seek without prejudging the outcome. For in a life which is appreciative of the gifts all around, authentic living is a blessing rather than a struggle.